I loved the way his voice echoed in his chest. Deep, clear, resonant.
I drew back a little so I could look at his eyes. “I don’t know. Sometimes it just comes over me. I never really planned—I had only just started living when I went to the Dragon Isle. I had no larger idea of what to do with my life beyond wandering through the world, learning new places and new people, finding new ways of seeing the world.” I laughed. “It seemed enough—and to be fair, you and your Kindred have taught me a great deal. But for all my life until then I had dreamt only of travelling through Kolmar. And now—”
“Now?”
I sighed. “Now Shikrar has put a duty on us. I know that we are bound to do what we can to help restore the Lost. That duty is an honour, but I fear—” I sat up and looked away. “And Rella told me to go to my mother. I know I will have to do that sooner or later. And now I don’t know which is more important, which I should do first—and of course it’s not just me anymore, we are both going to have to decide what to do, and in what order. Sometimes I swear this is all beyond me. For pity’s sake, Varien, I grew up on this little stead a hundred leagues from anywhere!” My voice rose with my frustration even as I wondered where this flood of self-doubt was coming from. “I’m not some clever, brave warrior in a bard’s tale, I’m flesh and blood and more likely to be wrong than right about most things. I know a bit about horses and gardens and enough about crops to keep from starving, but that’s about it. I’m not some great and glorious hero in a ballad, I’m—I’m the bastard child of a madman and a mother who left me as a babe!”
“Is this what troubles you, my heart?” asked Varien gently, as he sat up and took me in his arms. I held tight to him, for I was filled with a terrible sense of being overwhelmed, of frustration and anger at the expectations that had been put upon me, and suddenly I was weeping.
Bless him, he didn’t try to comfort me or talk me out of crying, he just held me close until the storm passed. When my tears were spent I lay still in his arms, heart to heart, and I could feel his beating against mine strong and steady.
Only then did he speak, and his heart and his voice were light.
“Lanen, my true Lady, I shall never cease to be astounded by the depths of you. So young as you are, not even old enough yet to fly, and each day I learn more of your great soul.” He moved a little away from me so that he could see my eyes, which was very brave of him. I once caught sight of myself in a mirror after I had been crying—I have seen some women who only look more beautiful when they cry, but my eyes go bright red and puffy and my nose runs. Bless him, he kissed me anyway.
“Dear heart, if you believed that we would soon accomplish all that Shikrar hopes we might one day achieve, I might be pleased at your enthusiasm but I would be seeking some way of telling you that it was unlikely. At the very best, I would assume that we have long years of work ahead of us, my dearling, of searching and learning in the knowledge that all may come to nothing in the end despite our best efforts. Sometimes so great a thing can only be faced if it is known before we start that it is impossible. Only then are we free to know that we cannot do worse than fail.”
“I wish I knew why I feel so awful about it,” I murmured.
He stroked my hair. “I cannot know, dearling, but I begin to have a sense of you. I know how deeply the tale of the Lost affects you. Have Shikrar’s words made you feel responsible for them?”
A few last tears leaked out and I nodded. “Yes, they have. I do feel responsible for them,” I muttered. “And what if I can’t do anything? What if we make no difference to them at all, after all that has happened, all we have been through?”
“Kadreshi,” he said gently, “we of the Kantri have believed it to be impossible for years thick as autumn leaves, but every year we try again to speak with our distant kin. If it is impossible we have nothing to lose.” His voice grew soft and low, the words barely loud enough to reach my ears, and beyond us not even a whisper escaped. “The weight of the world is not on your shoulders, my Lanen, nor is the fate of the Lost in your hands. If we are to attempt to help them, we must do so out of concern for our fellow creatures in this world, not for glory or because you think Shikrar believes you to be some heroine in a bard’s tale.” Varien smiled at me, melting my heart. “He does not, and he would be distressed to think you took his words so. I know him well, and like me I am certain he hopes that a fresh mind might bring a new insight—that in looking at the problem from so different an angle, from the point of view of the Gedri rather than of the Kantri, perhaps something will arise in your mind that would never have occurred to us. That is all, my dear one. He does not expect the two of us to work miracles for him. But he always hopes for one.”
He gazed long at me and I was drawn in and comforted by the ageless depths of the emerald eyes that filled my vision. “Once you know that a thing is impossible, my heart, and that in all likelihood you cannot do anything about it at all, you are suddenly free to think of it differently than you would if you had any hope in the matter. If a thing obviously cannot be done, it becomes a game, a mystery, a challenge, to think of a way around the impossible part.” He grinned at me. “You have, this moment, already mourned your failure—our failure—to help the Lost. The Kantri have tried for five thousand years and accomplished nothing at all. Therefore we have nothing to lose, for we cannot make matters worse or do less than has been done before.” I could almost see the flame behind his eyes as he added, “The only truly unforgivable thing is not to try.”
“Then in the name of the Winds and the Lady, let us begin!” I cried, all ablaze to be up and doing.
He grinned at me. “Even as we are? I admire your spirit, my heart, but I fear that even you might find the winter air frosty on bare skin.” He ran his hand over the nearest bit of bare skin he could reach and I began to regret that I had taught him what “tickle” meant. For all my enthusiasm I couldn’t help but laugh.
Joy lit his face like the morning sun as he drew me close in his arms. “We will leave soon enough, but for now, kadreshi, let us see what love can make possible at this very moment.”
I laughed again, from pure delight. It was still so strange and new to be desired.
“Varien Kantriakor, I swear you are getting addicted to this. I thought the Kantri only mated a few times in their lives!”
He stopped kissing various bits of me just long enough to say, “Behold, another of the joys of being human!”
And yet we managed to be dressed and ready by the time Jamie sent for us. It’s amazing what you can do when you put your mind to it.
It was a heavy, cold, grey morning, cloudy with the kind of damp cold that gets in your bones. I knew I would only be watching as Jamie instructed Varien, and I had hunted out every warm garment I possessed, leggings under my skirts and a tight woolen shirt under my heavy linen shirt under a long-sleeved wool tunic under a hooded sheepskin cloak. I looked half again my normal size but I was warm. Varien was also dressed in woolen tunic and leggings, but he refused to wear a coat. “I shall be warm enough, I trow, an Master Jameth hath his way,” he said.
“He will,” I replied. “But for pity’s sake don’t call him Master Jameth this morning. Jamie hates that name and you really don’t want your swordmaster mad at you.”
I saw Varien take a breath and I knew he was going to ask why. “Trust me,” I said. “Come, Jamie’s waiting in the courtyard.”
Jamie was trying out the pell he’d set up, a tall thick log braced upright in the middle of the courtyard. It was a lovely sight and one that brought back a hundred memories, though the light here was considerably better.
Jamie had taught me what little I knew of fighting over a number of years and, as my stepfather Hadron opposed such knowledge for his daughter, we had been forced to practice in the feed storeroom in the dead of night. I remembered every move of Jamie’s, though, and the patterns made my own muscles twitch in response. Jamie made it look like a dance. Forehand low, backhand high, forehand hi
gh, backhand low, head strike, then again, and again, until the muscles knew where to go without having to be told—then vary the pattern, practicing, building strength and endurance—then learning to parry, which took me forever—then the first tentative matches against Jamie, against a thinking target, when patterns disappeared and you had to rely on reflexes, and parrying badly got me a thump with the flat of his sword and a cry of “This isn’t an exercise, girl, you’re fighting for your life!”
I sighed, watching him finish the pattern and straighten up. He was right, I just didn’t have the speed. If I paid attention I should survive a brief skirmish, but in a pitched battle with a half-decent swordsman I’d lose every time. The worst of it was that when my opponent got the upper hand I kept wanting to drop the sword and start swinging my fists, which is deeply stupid and a good way to get yourself killed. I used to think he was terribly disappointed in me, but his heartfelt words the night before had gone deep to heal, and my lack of ability didn’t hurt nearly so much as it used to.
To my surprise I heard Jamie calling my name. I walked slowly over to him, picking my way carefully over the cold stone cobbles, and gazed at Jamie out of my woolly nest. “What did you want?” I asked contentedly.
“To find out if you can still fight,” he said briskly, moving swiftly behind me and twitching my hood off. “Just because you’ll never make a living at it doesn’t mean you don’t have to defend yourself. Come out of there and take up a sword.” I don’t know if it was the cold or the practice, but Jamie looked ten years younger and his eyes were sparkling.
Muttering to myself, I shrugged off my cloak, shivered, and picked up the practice sword Jamie had brought along. By the Lady, it was heavier than I remembered! I hauled it upright and Jamie pointed gaily at the pell. “Five minutes there first, while I talk to your other half,” he said, swatting me. I raised my sword and growled and he danced lightly away. “Do you remember your drill?”
Without a word I stood before the pell and readied my sword, thanking the Lady in my heart that Jamie had thought to scatter earth on the cobbles around the pell to keep us all from slipping.
Right. Deep breath, concentrate—go.
It helped that I’d just watched Jamie go through the pattern, but after a few passes my arm seemed to remember anyway. Truth to tell the practice felt good. On my trip to the Dragon Isle there had been several times I’d wished I was better with a blade. Strange to be doing this in full daylight, though—and with room to swing the sword at full stretch at last! I settled into the familiar movements—one, two, harder, harder, overhand, use the weight, two, three, harder, overhand, one, two …
Varien
I watched Lanen, fascinated. When she first started hitting the log—the “pell” was a tree trunk a handspan in width—she stood stiffly, aware of other eyes watching, but after a very few strokes she relaxed into it as a familiar action, using only the muscles that she needed. I didn’t know why she kept her right arm crooked high in front of her chest, but I expected I would learn soon enough.
Jamie walked over to me as Lanen was practicing. He stood before me and said, “Draw your sword.”
I laid the sheath gently on the cobbles.
“Now, feel the edge.”
“There is none to speak of,” I replied immediately, for I had examined the blade the night before. “Is it meant to be this dull?”
Jamie just looked at me, but even with three moons’ practice I could not read that expression. “Forgive me, Master Jam—Jamie—but I cannot tell what you would have me understand.”
“Unless you want to lose an arm by accident, yes, it’s meant to be dull,” he replied dryly. “The sharp one comes later. Have you got the pattern that Lanen is practicing?”
“I have watched the sequence. Is there a particular meaning associated with it?”
One corner of his mouth lifted in a half-smile. “No. Just practice.” He walked with me to the pell. “That’s enough, my girl,” he called out, and Lanen straightened, lowering her sword and allowing her right arm to drop. She shook it for a moment. “Damn. Stiff already,” she said, ruefully. “Sweet Shia, but I’m out of practice.”
“No, are you? I’d never have dreamt it,” he said. “You can have another session later, and you will practice every day until you’ve got some strength back into those arms. Now, young Varien, step up and show me what you saw Lanen doing. Start slow.”
I lifted the sword and swung it. It felt awkward and alien. I attempted to follow the pattern as Lanen had, but I overbalanced on the third stroke and nearly fell.
Jamie stopped me. “Are you sure you’re left-handed?” he asked. “You looked damned awkward.”
“I know not. I am doing as Lanen did. What is ‘left-handed’?”
Jamie sighed, taking the sword out of my left hand and put it into my right. “Try it that way,” he said, and it felt better immediately. He stood beside me at the pell, guiding my arm. “Forehand low, backhand high, forehand high, that’s right, let the weight of your sword do half of the work for you, now backhand low, yes, now head strike—straight over the top, and every now and then vary that with a side strike to the head.” He showed me, moving my arm with his, and soon I could feel the rhythm of the swings on my own. Then he had me crook my left arm up and forward, as Lanen had her right. “That’s where your shield will go one of these days,” he said. “Might as well get used to having it there. Remember to keep this arm angled to the side, where an opponent’s sword would land.”
“Surely this overhead strike is slow and clumsy,” I said, keeping up the pattern. “Does not the foe see the sword coming and have time to get away from it?”
“Aye,” said Jamie, “you’re right, as a killing stroke it’s practically useless. However, believe me when I tell you there’s nothing like seeing a sword coming towards your eyes to make you step back and reconsider. Besides, once his shield’s up you’ve a better chance at hitting something vital next stroke, if you’re quick and he isn’t. Just you keep at it, I’ll come stop you in a moment.” He took hold of my left arm, which had wandered down to my side, and lifted it again. “Remember, keep your shield arm up.” He left me working at the pell.
Lanen
Jamie wandered carelessly over to me, but his glance was sharp and he spoke urgently. “Now, my girl. If you want to convince me once and for all that your tale is true, use that Farspeech of yours to tell him you’re in trouble and he should drop his sword and come help you.”
Ah, well.
I answered quietly. “If you want proof I’ll ask him to come over here, but I can’t lie to him. It doesn’t work that way.”
“Why not? Just say those very words. Surely that’s not so hard.”
“Jamie, it’s called the Language of Truth for a reason. It’s not like writing a message, it’s like—like overhearing a conversation. Some of the older dragons can hide a little of what they are thinking, but I’ve only managed it once and that was with a lot of help. Flat lies are impossible; your thoughts would show the lie even if you don’t mean to. At the very least it’ll make him angry.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Interesting. Very well.” He looked around at Varien. “Ask him to try practicing with his left hand again.”
I did not bother to answer but bespoke Varien. “Dearling forgive me but Jamie is putting us to the test again Jamie has asked me to request that you try the pattern with the left hand again, I wish to goodness he’d just know the truth when he hears it.” I tried to keep silent about what Jamie had actually asked me to do, but I was still fairly new to true-speech and I never was much good as a liar in any case.
Varien
Lanen’s underthought was obvious, as was the fact that she was trying not to show it. “You’d have thought he’d realise by now, he wanted me to lie to you, I told him I couldn’t/wouldn’t he still doesn’t trust you or me for that matter, wouldn’t lie to you aloud much less in truespeech.”
I instantly switched to my left hand an
d became instantly awkward again. I went through the full pattern three times to emphasize the point, but I could feel my anger building with each stroke and on the last I let loose my full strength and drove the sword deep into the wood. I left it there and strode over to Jamie and Lanen.
Jamie impressed me, for by the time I arrived he was already moving and wary. So he should be. If I had still had my old shape I might well have killed him out of hand.
“How darest thou ask Lanen to lie to me?” I cried. Even as I spoke, a detached part of me noted both that I was using a form of speech that was far too old, and that my body was physically shaking with the effort of holding back from striking him. “The Language of Truth is so named for a reason! How should we deceive each other when our very thoughts are made clear? Truespeech is not some idle amusement, it is deep communion with another. You cannot open your thoughts, your very self, to another soul without revealing the truth of your mind and heart. Never think it again, Jameth of Arinoc, nor ask Lanen to do so.”
Jamie nodded. “It’s true, then,” he said. “You really can hear her.” He looked at me. “You’d like to hit me, wouldn’t you?”
The Lesser Kindred Page 7
